The Drinking Game
by bluecellphone
Summary: Mohinder gets Sylar drunk in order to test him. This fic is intended to be funny and angsty, with a bit of smut at the end as a treat if you make it through.


The Drinking Game

So I had a different idea for this, and then it went on its own little rampage as I wrote. It's not so much a game as it is Mohinder using alcohol to test Sylar. You'll see if you read it. If you make it to the end, I clap for you for reading that much, and as a gift there's a tiny bit of smut! This story is supposed to be comical, angsty, and smutty, all rolled into one. Please excuse typos, it is unbetad and I'm lazy.

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"What is this called again?" Sylar joined the doctor at the small kitchen table, watching him lay out several shot glasses.

"Century Club." Mohinder unwrapped the black watch from his wrist and laid it on the table.

"Century Club. Right. And why are you making me play it again?"

"You really don't listen well, Sylar!" he laughed, standing to retrieve the fifth of vodka from the kitchen counter. Mohinder's feet shuffled on the wooden floor as Sylar's plaid pajama pants drug underneath them. The couple had carelessly put on whichever articles of clothing were nearest to them after their rampant evening of sex; evident in Mohinder's tight blue t-shirt outlining every curve of Sylar's upper body.

"You," he plunked the bottle down, "are going to drink two shots every minute for five minutes. Then, we're going to test the accuracy of your abilities while under the influence. I revised the game slightly so that we don't kill you." The doctor practically beamed at his clever idea for research.

Sylar placed a hand onto his stomach, frowning his face into a grimace.

"I'm going to be so sick later."

"Hopefully not before I get the chance to test your abilities."

"You're an evil genius, Dr. Suresh. Has anyone ever told you that?" Sylar perked an eyebrow at his confident mate.

"Better an evil _genius_ than just plain evil." And so the battle of wills began. Mohinder poured the first shot, sliding it to his test subject who caught it with the utmost practiced grace. Those hands were so skilled.

"When I tell you to, you must drink. No whining." He raised the watch and waited patiently for the hands to tick to the right numbers.

"And what are you planning on doing if I accidentally slice your head off in a drunken telekinetic stupor?" Long, pale fingers hoisted the shot glass to his lips in anticipation.

"I don't expect that to happen, but if it does, I've prepared some curare."

They shared a look.

"You sure do love using that stuff, don't you Mohinder?"

"It can be quite useful. Drink." Sylar obeyed. The first shot burned his throat, but not horribly, and he slammed the empty glass to the table with an overly-content grin. An open hand beckoned the next shot to its palm, easing the glass across the table.

"Cocky right out of the gate, as usual."

"Not cocky. Just…comfortable. This should be easy."

"I'll ask to see that ability again five minutes from now," Mohinder laughed, "Will it still be easy?"

"You underestimate me. Even if I'm so inebriated that I'm seeing two of something, I'll still be able to move it…them. Both of them."

"And the spinning walls and ceiling will do nothing to hinder that?"

Sylar scoffed.

"I've been in worse situations, Mohinder."

"We'll see. Drink."

Sylar's head snapped backwards as he emptied the contents of the glass into his mouth, down his throat. This one burned a little more.

"Blah!" he commented on the stale taste. "You couldn't have gotten the good stuff?"

"We're not made of money."

"Or…I'm not worth it." His mock frown fazed the doctor, causing him to lean across the table and stroke Sylar's cheek before grabbing him by the chin.

"Well worth it." He sat back. "But all the money we save is going towards the restoration of your watch shop. Remember?" Mohinder's smile was bright and blinding, warming Sylar to the core. Or was that the alcohol? He couldn't tell.

"You really shouldn't be wasting your money on that. It should be going towards your research." Sylar reached for another shot glass as the scientist across from him re-filled the others.

"_You_ are my research, Sylar. Whatever makes you happy makes my job easier. Not to mention the sex. Drink."

"The sex?" He hesitated, confused, before knocking the shot back.

"Yes, I've noticed a pattern with you."

"Do tell." Sylar ran his fingers across his stubble-laced chin, leaning in on an elbow to hear his lover's theory.

"It's not a major revelation. Simply, when you're happy you can go for hours. You're quite the entrepreneur as well, I might add."

Sylar blushed.

"So you like the new things I try?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

"Usually I can't gauge your reaction. All I have to go off of is sound and…well…you make a lot of incoherent noises."

Mohinder's face heated, the hue of his chocolate skin growing slightly pinker.

"Well _that's_ embarrassing. Drink."

Like clockwork, his test subject drank.

"Why is it embarrassing? I love the sounds you make."

"I should have guessed the conversation would lead to this after you had a few." The doctor shifted.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Sylar had that _look_ in his eyes, that _grin_ perking his lips. Mohinder felt a foot snake teasingly around his leg.

"No. It's okay in the moment, but…we don't need to talk about this now. Change the subject please."

"Alright." Sylar retreated from his game of footsie, rolled his eyes, and wrapped his long fingers around the next shot.

He blinked heavily a few times.

"Feeling it?" the scientist within Mohinder was gaining curiosity.

"Yes, I am. How many is that?"

"Drink another and it will be 5."

"That's it? Well golly." He threw the fifth shot back.

"Golly? Since when did _that_ word peak your vocabulary?" Mohinder grinned.

"It has become apparent to me that I may come off as…visually abrasive sometimes. Words like that should help to tone down my image. Right?"

Mohinder noted the alcohol in his lover's system causing an overly-worried look on his face. He decided to agree, afraid of how emotional the other man often became while intoxicated.

"Sure. Of course. But for the record, your image is not abrasive. It's quite sexy. So you do _not_ need to talk that way, Sylar."

"Gee whiz, Mohinder! That's awfully sweet of you." Sylar was trying hard to hold back a rampage of buzzed giggles.

"Stop that!" The doctor's face looked utterly horrified.

"Okay." Permanent red now stained Sylar's cheeks, as he lowered his head to keep from laughing at anything and everything.

"Drink!" Mohinder's voice was alarming; having forgotten to tell his test subject it was that time again. Sylar jumped, extending an arm to the sixth shot. This one burned worse than any of the previous, sending him into a fury of coughs.

"Are you alright?" The geneticist asked, rising to rub his lover's back in small, soothing circles. His only response was a feverish head shake 'yes', a pale hand clutching a stubbled neck in pain.

"Wow, that burns!" Sylar locked eyes with the Indian as he returned to his seat across the table. "It felt like a bad case of the 'Ted Sprague' in my throat."

"Sylar, that is _not_ funny!" Mohinder's scolding couldn't keep the ex-murderer from cracking, as he collapsed onto the table before him in a fit of laughter. The doctor frantically steadied the filled shot glasses from being vibrated out of place.

"Really, do not joke about the dead!"

The old familiar pattern. As always, Sylar was becoming the exact opposite of his usual tough, daunting, serious self. He was now overly-comical. And as the alcohol would continue to work, the taller man would become emotional, after which sending needy hands out to grasp at Mohinder. It happened every time the ex-murderer drank.

Sylar sat upright, calming himself by breathing deeply, wiping tears from his red cheeks.

"Oh come on, Mohinder! It's funny! Because…he could," he flashed the doctor wild spirit fingers, "you know…boom! Oh nevermind, you're smart, you get it."

"Are you finished?" Sylar nodded 'yes', closing his mouth so tight under the glare of his lover that his lips formed a thin line. "Good. Drink."

He obeyed.

After a few moments of silence, watching the Indian pour his three final shots, Sylar's shaky voice asked,

"Are you mad at me, Mohinder?"

The doctor sighed.

"No, of course not. That was expected."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

Mohinder looked up into big, dark eyes searing into him, filled to the brim with tears. The heavy brow above was scrunched in regret.

"Its okay, Sylar, I know. Everything is fine." He offered a reassuring smile to lessen the pained look on his lover's face.

"Three more?" Sylar asked, rubbing his temples.

"Yes, three more. Are you okay to continue?"

"We can't stop now."

"How do you feel?"

"Like my boyfriend is making me play a cruel drinking game so he can run evil tests on me."

Mohinder couldn't help but smile at the helpless, innocent, intoxicated man in front of him. He leaned over the table to wipe a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

"You're almost done," he comforted, handing Sylar another shot and taking the glass back when it was emptied.

"I'm sorry." Sylar wiped his mouth lazily with the back of his hand.

"You already said that."

"No, I mean. For everything…in the past. For being Zane. I'm sorry."

Mohinder rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"We've had discussions about this before, right? There's no need to bring it up. I know you're sorry."

"I don't think you do. My heart…breaks…whenever I think about what I did to you."

Here come the tears again; flowing freely from enlarged, sad eyes.

"Please Sylar, not now."

"But you _need_ to know. You have to know. You _don't_ know."

"I do! I forgave you. Now we live quite happily. Right? Aren't you happy, Sylar?"

"Very." A shuddering inward sigh shook the man as he wiped tears away furiously; almost painfully. His eyes, bright red and wet, dropped to the floor.

"Well there you go." Mohinder rose, walked over to his upset lover, and planted a loving kiss on his cheek after bending down to wrap his arms around Sylar's neck. "You're very happy, I'm very happy…_we _are happy."

"We." Sylar repeated the word, liking the way it sounded. He'd always wanted to be a 'we' with someone he loved. Mohinder held another shot to the other man's lips, wanting to finish quickly and do the tests so he could get the distraught test subject to bed.

Sylar allowed the burning liquid to rush over his tongue and down his throat, swallowing hard.

Afterwards, he stared at the table, in a deep drunken thought. Mohinder returned to his seat to watch the man; observing him. Not as a doctor, but as a mate. The vulnerability his lover was displaying was comforting and scary at the same time; role reversal wasn't a bad thing every now and then. But with Sylar's guard down, Mohinder himself was vulnerable too.

He shook away the thoughts, leaning low onto the table to try and catch his partner's stone gaze.

Instead, Sylar shifted suddenly, and grumbled, "You drink the last one." His words were short and his tone was whiney. A long finger tapped the full shot glass roughly, motioning for the doctor to claim it as his own.

"Sylar, then the results would be inconclusive."

"Who cares if they are in…inconcoo…slive," he frowned, folding is arms across his chest. Fumbling over the word only frustrated him further. "I can't do another."

Mohinder's mind raced, trying to come up with a way to entice his subject into finishing.

"If you drink it for me, later I'll…do it for you. That thing you like so much." His lover perked at the proposition, glancing at the bedroom before reaching for the last shot. He paused the glass at his lips.

"Promise?"

Mohinder smiled.

"Promise."

With the last shot emptied and a wincing face slowly returning to normal, the doctor was eager to use the intoxicated man in a brief series of tests.

He cleared the table, leaving a single empty shot glass in the middle, and moved behind the still seated Sylar for his own protection.

"Okay." he placed his hands on the drunken man's shoulders, steadying him from his slow sway. "Using your abilities, see if you can lift it slowly off of the table, and set it back down please."

It took Sylar a full minute to gain his composure, his face serious in an attempt to keep the spinning glass in front of him still. Finally he gave up on the task, raising his finger to its level. Mohinder watched intensely, squeezing his lover's shoulders in anticipation.

They waited, still, until Sylar's finger flicked upwards, and the glass shattered into several small pieces on the table.

It shocked him more so than it shocked Mohinder, causing him to jump up out of the chair. The doctor stumbled backwards at the sudden uprising of his test subject.

"Oh my," he breathed, reaching out to steady the taller man as he spun to face Mohinder.

"I-I didn't mean to!"

"It's alright! It was just a shot glass, everything is fine. Let's try something else." The doctor was reluctant, but also curious as to what other abilities wouldn't work properly.

He retrieved a cup and filled it with water from the sink, placing it next to the small pile of glass on the table. Retrieving the dizzy man leaning against the kitchen cabinets, he walked him to the table and requested,

"Can you freeze this water?"

Sylar swallowed.

"I'll try."

He rubbed his forehead before reaching a wavering hand out and hovering it above the cup. Mohinder wrapped his arm around Sylar's waist encouragingly.

Several moments passed before the cup, the water, and the entire table froze into an icy chunk.

The pair stumbled backwards together, Mohinder grabbing Sylar's hand quickly to keep the ice from creeping any further through the room. Sylar sobbed.

"It's fine! It will melt." Mohinder tried to comfort him but the other man was in shambles, slinking to the floor and pulling his knees to his chest.

"They don't work!" He called up to the doctor in a child's tone.

Mohinder crouched beside him, cupping Sylar's cheek in his hand comfortingly.

"Shh. They will work again tomorrow. Don't worry. Try one more."

While the geneticist gathered supplies, Sylar leaned his head back onto the cabinets behind him, closing his eyes tight to hold back the sick feeling rising in his throat.

"Here." Mohinder knelt beside him again, laying a piece of newspaper on the floor in front of his lover and setting a single spoon on top. "Try melting this."

The disgruntled man sighed and leaned forward. Noticing his inability to steady is arm, Mohinder grabbed Sylar's wrist gently to aid him in holding it still.

The spoon came upwards into itself, and then smoothed outwards in a puddle of silver.

Sylar's face lit up in self-approving glee as Mohinder swooped down to give him a tight hug. The doctor didn't pull away until he heard a closed-mouthed gag coming from within the other man.

"Oh no. Come on!" He yanked Sylar to his feet and rushed his intoxicated boyfriend to the bathroom, collapsing onto the toilet seat. His dark hands soothed Sylar's back as the contents of the experiment came back up from the ex-murderer's stomach.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing the back of his neck lightly. "I didn't mean for you to get sick."

Sylar pushed away from the toilet, a disgusted look crossing his face, and leaned against the bathroom wall. His mate rushed into the kitchen, past the frozen table, and came back with a cup of ice cold water, which Sylar guzzled.

"Feel any better?" Mohinder asked, helping his test subject up off of the floor.

"Yes. Much." He leaned into the doctor, slumped over his shoulder, breathing in his curls deeply. Mohinder was amazed that his knees didn't buckle under the weight of the taller man.

"Ready for bed?"

"No. I'm ready for the promise."

"I would have figured you forgot about that."

Sylar pushed away and tapped his own forehead proudly.

"Idiotic memory, remember?" His drunken smirk amused Mohinder.

"I think you mean eidetic memory," he laughed, steadying Sylar by the shoulders.

"You promised."

"Indeed. I intend to keep that promise. Come on." He led the drunken man into the bedroom, where he laid him softly down on the bed. Sylar was sprawled; arms and legs outstretched, blinking slowly at the ceiling above him as it spun in a rapid spiral of colors. He felt a tug on his hips, and raised his head to see Mohinder undoing his jeans and pulling them down slowly.

"Just lay back and close your eyes."

Sylar did as he was told, resting his head back on the pillow. The doctor continued to work, pulling white boxers down and rolling them off of long, pale legs. Sylar shivered a bit at the cold air hitting his naked lower half.

Mohinder then crept up so that he was hovering over the nearly passed-out man, and whispered into his ear lovingly,

"You're _special_, Sylar. You're the most special person to me."

A deep, satisfied smile crept slowly across the alcohol-buzzed face. It lingered until he felt a sudden hot, wet sensation on his member. Pleasure swept his body like a wave of fire rolling across his skin.

Mohinder started slow; moving his mouth up and down Sylar's hardening erection leisurely. He applied just the right amount of pressure with his lips, and each dip of his head made the man beneath him arch a tiny bit more.

He quickened the pace, running his tongue teasingly as he went, knowing just the right spots to lick to make his lover curl into himself.

Stopping suddenly, he crawled back over Sylar again, planting wet kisses all over the other man's neck while continuing to distribute pleasure with his hand. Stroking the hardened member smoothly yet with a firm grip, he whispered again into the breathless man's ear.

"So special."

That word alone was enough to send Sylar into a whirlwind of pleasure, let alone hearing it from the man he loved while receiving an amazingly gentle, beautiful touch.

"Mo – " The full name couldn't escape his mouth before a warm tongue and wet lips enveloped his ear lobe.

He moaned, nudging into the cheek next to him, and the Indian quickened his pace with his hand. Sylar gripped the bed sheets, lost in the spinning room, in his building orgasm, and in his lover's soft touch.

Mohinder sucked lightly on the skin under his jaw, tasting the residue of dried tears from his previous emotional state. He nibbled softly on Sylar's bottom lip, before taking him into a tongue-filled kiss.

"Special," hot breath filled his mouth as he swallowed the word, taking it into himself.

Sylar's orgasm shuddered violently through him as he released, causing him to curl his knees up and roll over onto his side. He was left panting heavily, Mohinder's taste lingering in his mouth, Mohinder's touch lingering on his oh-so sensitive skin.

The doctor, knowing just how to steady a spinning head, made sure his lover's foot hung off the bed and was planted onto the floor, stabilizing his equilibrium.

He then curled up behind Sylar, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and holding him tight.

"Did you mean it? Do you really think I am?" A shaky voice said from within the drunken shell.

Mohinder kissed him lightly on his temple, pulling the bed sheet over his lower half.

"More than you will ever know."

Sylar drifted to sleep, praying that Mohinder would never stop touching him.


End file.
